


Expect the Unexpected

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bus Kids - Freeform, Fun, Gen, Hobbies, Night on the town, Random & Short, Some bus kids, Takes place early in season 1, unexpected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AoS crew during their early times together (Season 1). A random piece about random things that randomly pop into my head. Our science team never ceases to surprise us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present time

_“Go out!” Coulson had told them, “You all deserve a break after this mission.”_

So, Ward, Skye, Simmons, and Fitz headed to a club. Except that none of them was in a good mood. Each of them was tired. Each of them was frustrated that it had been such a tough situation; that they barely made it all out in one piece.

It took effort to keep the conversation in the small booth in a corner of the club alive.

“I’ll get us another round of beers,” Ward says and gets up to head to the bar. The rest of them sit in awkward silence, until the DJ puts on a new song.

“Oh, that’s a great song!” Simmons exclaims.

“Huh?” Skye mutters and looks at Simmons. She had barely been listening.

“It’s been a while,” Fitz says to Simmons, who smiles at him.

Skye feels like she’s not really part of their conversation, so her gaze wanders to the bar instead, where Ward is trying to get the bartenders attention. She hears Fitz say, “We’ll be right back,” and simply mumbles “Uh-hu,” as an acknowledgment of what he had said. After a minute of watching Ward’s futile—and yet strangely amusing—attempts to get beers for them, Skye turns back to where Fitz and Simmons had been sitting. Their seats are empty. She looks around the club and all of a sudden her eyes fixate on something she had never thought possible: Simmons and Fitz are dancing; not awkward nerd-dancing, not basic club dancing, but full-blown ballroom style. _And:_ they look good doing it.

Skye’s focus isn’t even interrupted when Ward returns to the table. “I’m fairly certain I just found the most incompetent bartender the world has ever seen,” he says, and puts four bottles of beer on the table, “Where are FitzSimmons?”

All Skye can do is gesture silently with her head toward the dance floor. Ward quietly sits down next to her and stares at the scene himself, “What the…?” he mumbles in disbelief.

“Is that some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. requirement?” Skye asks, “’Cause I _seriously_ doubt I can do that!”

Ward doesn’t take his eyes of Fitz and Simmons, “Most Operations officers receive some basic dance lessons. Comes in handy when you’re trying to infiltrate social events. But I’ve _never_ heard that that’s protocol in the Science and Tech division. Why would it be? Those guys barely get into the field at all.”

Skye and Ward keep staring at the two dancing and smiling scientists.

Fitz and Simmons return to the table after the song finishes; both slightly out of breath, both smiling happily. They sit down and each reaches for a bottle of beer.

“Thanks so much for fetching that, Agent Ward,” Simmons says and takes a sip.

“Yes, I agree,” Fitz adds, “Greatly appreciated!”

“Is everything alright?” Simmons asks somewhat concerned and takes another sip from her bottle.

Skye finally breaks the silence, “What the serious fuck was that just now?”

“Excuse me?” Simmons asks confused.

Ward chimes in, “You two. Out there.” He gestures at the dance floor.

“That was a samba,” Fitz says matter-of-factly, pointing in the same direction as Ward.

“Yes, but How? Why? When? _How?_ ” Skye rattles on.

“Oh,” Simmons exclaims, “I know, Fitz!” She gently slaps Fitz's upper arm, “They appear to be surprised that we were dancing.”

“Ahhh,” Fitz replies, and nods in agreement, “Yes, that _might_ seem unusual.”

“Why can you _do_ this? _How?_ ” Skye yells at them, leaning over the table to get closer to the science team, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

“Well, if you must know,” Simmons concurs, “it was towards the end of our first semester at the Academy…”


	2. Flashback

They’re sitting next to each other at the bar of the Boiler Room. Fitz wipes away the condensation water on his glass of iced tea. He stares at the glass as his thumb glides over the surface, leaving passages between little drops of water.

_Iced tea_ , he thinks, _how adventurous of me._

“Do you realize,” he says, and turns his head to look at Simmons, “that basically _every_ _single_ _person_ in here would be able to produce a topnotch fake ID?”

She looks up from her own glass, “Yes, of course, but _all_ the bartenders are from the Science and Tech division themselves. So they know everyone around here. So they know _exactly_ how old everyone _really_ is. So, in here, fake IDs are not really that practical.”

“Yeah… well… still… just sayin’…”

They both look back at their iced teas and sit in silence for a moment.

“What if we change the frequency?” Simmons asks, turning back to face Fitz, “Or adjust the composition of the chemical mixture to include less…”

“You’re not _seriously_ doing this right now?” he asks and stares at her.

“What?” she plays dumb.

“Weaver told us in no uncertain terms that working on something besides our projects and socializing was part of the whole Academy experience and that we’d run risk of washing out if we didn’t—and I quote—‘step away from the lab, get out, get a hobby, and interact with other students from time to time.’ Do you recall that conversation? I mean the one we had,” he glances at his watch, “One hour and _twenty-two_ minutes ago?”

“Well, _of course_ I remember that conversation, but I _also_ think that there are still _a lot_ of variables to consider for our project and so I brought it up.”

“Yeah, well, I _highly_ doubt Weaver would consider talking about our projects in the Boiler Room instead of our lab sufficient socializing.”

She rolls her eyes, and lets out a grunt of frustration, “Ugh, this is _so_ ridiculous.” Her hands gesture wildly as she speaks, “We are doing _highly_ important work that S.H.I.E.L.D. could _greatly_ benefit from in the future and here we are forced to take a _completely_ unnecessary break.”

“Well, while I _wholeheartedly_ agree with everything you’ve just said, I’d rather not have our projects and time at the Academy cut short because our profs think we’re anti-social weirdos. Let’s just give this a try, shall we? Let’s try to talk about _anything_ but science for a while.”

She lets out a deep sigh, “Fine!”

But instead of coming up with a topic, they both fall silent and stare at their glasses.

Suddenly, Simmons sits up straight and turns toward Fitz. “Well, I like this song,” she says triumphantly, having come up with something non-sciency to talk about. She grabs her glass and takes a sip.

“Yes,” Fitz nods, “It’s a very nice cha-cha.”

She coughs as her iced tea goes down the wrong pipe.

“What now?” she asks, uncertain if she has heard correctly.

“A cha-cha,” Fitz repeats, “A Latin dance. 4/4 time signature.”

“Yes,” Simmons interrupts him, a confused look on her face, “I’ve heard of a cha-cha before, but why would you…” She stops mid-sentence.

“What?” Fitz asks, “I don’t look like someone who knows what a cha-cha is? That’s what you’re trying to say.”

“Well, it’s certainly not the _first_ thing I would have expected to hear from you.”

“I took ballroom dancing lessons,” Fitz says matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

Fitz sighs, “My mum thought that I was too anti-social as a kid. That I could use more friends. Or, well, any friends really.” He pauses, “Guess some things haven’t really changed since then. ... Anyways. In a desperate, ill-advised, but well-meaning attempt to change her son’s life for the better, she signed me up for dance classes.”

“And you _went_?”

“She promised me a tool kit I’ve been eyeing for months if I finished at least three lessons.”

“So you went  _three_  times?”

“Not quite,” he replies and nervously rubs the back of his neck, “Turns out when you’re one of _three_ boys in a ballroom dancing class with _ten_ girls and it _somehow_ turns out that you are the _only_ of those three boys with a bit of sense for rhythm you become _surprisingly_ popular. … Well, during dance class at least. Outside of class they all still treated me like I was invisible. But, I had … fun,” he says, even though the last word seems to be difficult to say, “So, I finished the class.” He pauses, “And five more.”

She looks at him wide-eyed, “You took _six_ ballroom dancing classes?”

“Alright,” he sighs, “I give you exactly _two_ minutes to make fun of me. Then we move on, please.” He looks at his watch to start the timer.

“Fun of you?” she exclaims, “No. I… I just never experienced anything like that before. It sounds…” She’s struggling to come up with the right words, “I wish I would have learned something like that. You know, as an outlet. To do something different for a change.”

He looks at her and senses that she is sincere.

“I could teach you,” he suggests.

“Really?” she exclaims excitedly. She raises her right hand and points knowingly at Fitz, “I’m _sure_ Weaver would consider ballroom dancing _quite_ socializing.”

“Probably,” Fitz replies, “But we’re not gonna tell her that, right?”

“Gosh no,” Jemma raises both her hands as if she wanted to push away the sheer idea of revealing their plan to their professor, “But we will _still_ have complied with her wishes to get a hobby. So that should be sufficient. … Hopefully.”

“Alright, Simmons,” he says and extends his hand, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

She takes his hand and shakes it firmly, “I look forward to it, Fitz!”


End file.
